Of three workers and a desert (1)

November 17th, 2016


Too much sunshine as three workers rest on an iron pole in a middle of an American desert.

One is polish, and, accordingly, goes by the name of Wozzeck, or, if more national, Wojciech. For

the sake of spelling economy and cultural integrity he will be referred to as Woyzeck.

Opposite of the jolly Pole, but still on the iron pole, sits his friend, companion and contradiction – a

Lithuanian welder, known by his national name Zigmas, whom, in order to humour his most read

writer, I will call Zigmund – keeping a Z for the aforementioned cultural integrity.

Walking in front of them we find a third worker, who, knowing neither his origin nor established

nominal preferences, will be called different names due to the requirements of situation , arising in

the course of a story.

For the inaugural naming I‘ll ascribe him name of Jozef – with a Z , the first reason being all too

often stated inclination for cultural integrity, the second, and much more important, the

elusiveness of historical – as well as metaphysical – meaning throughlying this name – the earthly

father of Jesus, the dictator, known for starving his broes and foes, the greatest propagandist and

last but not least, the most famous character of modern literature to have never had a chance at a

fair trial.

The reasons that brought – or, shall we say, collected – them here are of obscure nature to all of


Woyzeck thinks it is a duty that graciously befell them. To Zigmund it all boils down to simple

fuck knows, while Jozef neither questions nor cares to react to the underlying unknown of their


Whether it is related to the proximity of a black hole situated twelve times twelve yards to the side

of one end of a pole, is not clear. However it might be, the hole is there and has been so for as

long they remember. While the length of their memories might be quite untrustworthy – due to the

propensity, very workmanlike, of the trio to drink – the scope of the memories is vast and rich.

Woyzeck remembers having had poured oil, that he had found some few miles down the desert,

into the hole. Zigmund states that all the alcohol they‘ve come up with, was brought by and

through the hole. Jozef regularly finds some animals, at times even human ones, residing close to

the hole, and takes time to talk to them. Both Zigmund and Woyzeck are unable to understand the

languages the animals use, though they swear they see them, maybe just to assure Jozef his sanity.

If it‘s not obvious yet, Zigmund is short and stout, sporting a beard – the attribute he shares with

tall and and on the slim side Woyzeck and a round, but not fat, middle heighted Jozeph. The

physical differences in body compositions of workers are evenmoreso highlighted by the fact that

due to time and very little desire for upkemptness beards of the men are very alike: the sort that is

dense at the roots and rarified at the ends.

Jozeph, being the youngest of three, likes to refer to Woyzeck papi. Generally it is met with

unnoticing acceptance, though at times of hungovery anxiety Zigmund throws a small tantrum and

starts calling Jozef a bastard. Woyzeck, the most polite and intelligently inclined, refers to Jozef as

son, whenever he senses that the young one needs support, which – the sense- is the case quite

frequent. Zigmund, becoming the middle man, tends to vacate the conversation, and wait at the

hole for a bottle of cheap, yet priceless, whisky.

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